Current mood:	Woah, this is heavy.
Entry tags:	fic, fic: back to the future, fic: prompts, fic: random fandoms

Fic: Next to Nothing (Back to the Future, Biff/Lorraine, NC-17)
Next to Nothing

Fandom: Back to the Future

Pairing: Biff/Lorraine

Rating: NC-17

Word count: 2,705

Summary: Some things were just never meant to be.

A/N: Yes, Biff/Lorraine, and yes, it is consensual. This is a neatened up version of the prompt I wrote for oxoniensis's Porn Battle VIII: Back to the Future, Biff/Lorraine, waited. The original post is here.

Setting: Hmm. Hard to say. It's definitely later in the year of 1955, but as to which timeline... Your guess is as good as mine.


Biff's in the garage when Lorraine appears. He's elbow-deep in the engine of the old '46 Ford flip-top he picked up for next to nothing, so he doesn't hear her at first. He's honestly not sure how long she's been standing there watching him, because he only notices her presence when he reaches for his beer and the baby blue of her skirt catches his eye.

It's early evening, still light out, hot and muggy in the dim interior of the garage. Dust dances in the rays of sunlight slanting in through the grimy windows. He'd been almost ready to call it quits for the day, but his grandma's home so he's in no real hurry to go in, plus he's actually enjoying working on the car. It was being sold for scrap, not much more than a shell, but he hadn't been able to resist. That model is like an old, familiar face. There are a lot of memories wrapped up in it for him, both good and bad. Besides, it would be refreshing, to say the least, to have a car that doesn't stink of manure every time the temperature goes over seventy degrees. She'll be beautiful when he's finished with her, and he's aiming to be done by the end of the summer. It's not like he has a lot else to do with his free time. Washing windows and filling tanks at the Texaco in the Square isn't exactly wiping him out, and he doesn't have much else to do. After two years as a senior, he's kind of forgotten how to be anything else. Now there's no school, no football, no scholarship to college, and no promising job prospects on the horizon. Nothing but this car to take his mind off the sudden gaping chasm of nothing he has to look forward to in life.

He hasn't seen Lorraine around for a while, not now that they're done with school. He thought that she'd be out of here faster than he could blink. There's nothing keeping her here, so he'd assumed maybe she'd give college a try, land herself a husband, squeeze out a couple of kids, and live some great new life somewhere, or maybe follow George McFly's unexpectedly bright shining star -- that little weasel -- but last he'd heard, Lorraine was still in town.

Maybe she was stuck here, just like him.

He greets her with a suspicious lift of his head, looking her up and down from behind his faint scowl because whatever it is she wants, it's unlikely to be anything fun. Biff has had his fill of anything to do with Lorraine Baines, George McFly, or that butthead Calvin Klein. He washed his hands of them forever the last time he had to chow down on a mouthful of dehydrated cow shit.

She says his name by way of greeting, her eyes on the car.

"Lorraine. What brings you to my neighbourhood?"

"Oh, you know." She shrugs. "I was just passing by."

"Right," he says. He's been practicing his sarcasm and is pretty happy with the way it comes out. He takes a slug of his Bud, stolen from his grandma's stash, holding the bottleneck between his first two fingers, an old ingrained habit. It's funny Lorraine being here. Funny in the way that really isn't. "So where's McFly these days?" he asks.

Word is George hasn't been home in a while, that he's flying high out in Hollywood, talk of the town as the next big thing, all because of those stupid science fiction books of his. Biff never saw the appeal, but anything that gets George McFly out of his face and out of his life can never be a bad thing.

Lorraine's jaw gets a little tighter, but she covers it with another shrug and wanders further into the garage.

She has yet to look him in the eye, or even acknowledge that this is his space and she has no right to be here, that there's no reason for her to be here. He leans up against the car and tries to look cocky as hell as she gets closer, close enough to reach out and take the Bud from his hand. It's only then that she looks up at him, her lips pouted around the neck of the bottle as she drinks, making it look like the most sinful thing in the world.

It uncoils something hot and achy and bitter in his stomach, and Biff's had enough of this bullshit. Time for Lorraine to put up or shut up, because he doesn't owe her a damn thing, and he can't think of a single good reason for her to be here, tormenting him like this with all the things he can't have.

He grabs her shoulders, just like he's seen Brando and Sinatra do a hundred times. The beer bottle hits the floor. It doesn't break, but spatters the last dregs of the beer over their feet, then rolls away under a workbench, instantly forgotten. Lorraine goes tense in his grasp, just like always, her chin raised and defiant. Biff holds his ground, doesn't give her an inch, and he waits for the insults to start, waits for her to fight back. It used to be funny, but he's tired of this, tired of always having her look at him like he's something nasty she stepped in. She's the one who showed up at his house, so Biff's sure as hell not going on the defensive.

Lorraine pushes back her shoulders, and that defiance is still there, but it's different somehow. Now it looks like a dare.

She settles her hands on his hips, just the tip of one thumb catching under the dirty white undershirt he's wearing to brush against his skin, and it's the hottest goddamn thing that's ever happened to him. Hotter than anything he's ever seen in Oh La La, hotter even than that time last year when Mindy Zohfeld sucked on his neck and actually put her hand on his Johnson under the bleachers after football practice.

His heart lurches and picks up the pace, beating quick and hard as he stares down at Lorraine, unbelieving. She meets his gaze head on. This is really happening. Lorraine's actually going to let him.

He kisses her, pushing his lips hard against hers. She pulls back, displeasure written all over her, and he thinks that's it, that's the jumpstart she needed and now the yelling and kicking and slapping his face can begin with gusto. But she only goes for another kiss, leading him into it, her mouth open and wet. She's licking at his lips and it's amazing. Biff can barely keep up. His head is spinning.

He had no idea Lorraine was so fast, but he's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He pushes her up against the side of the car, the only thing hiding them from the street outside, sure at any second she's going to knee him in the nuts again and haul ass out of there, cursing his name. But she just grunts when her back hits the car, and her hands are everywhere, small and hot under his shirt, scratching at his chest and stomach.

He's straining against her, all fired up, rutting up against her hip, and she's not stopping him, she's not saying no. She's leaning back against the side of his car, arching up against him, urging him on. This is nuts. It's crazy. Some small part of him thinks he should stop, but there's no way in hell that's going to happen. He has Lorraine right where he's always wanted her and she seems suddenly okay with that. He'll take what he can get.

For all his big talk in front of the guys, Biff has never even parked before. Not once. There have been a few girls, a few kisses, a delightful and illuminating fifteen minutes with Mindy Zohfeld, and a lot of slammed doors and angry fathers. So all this, it's all brand new.

His hands are shaking when he unbuttons her blouse. She has to help him unhook her bra, but then she's half-naked, right there for the taking, and Biff forgets to breathe. He cups her breasts and runs his thumbs over her nipples, feeling stupidly reverent and he can only imagine the dumb, stunned expression on his face right now. She's beautiful, a pink blush spread across her chest, and he thinks he might burst if he doesn't put his mouth on her. Lorraine takes the decision out of his hands, because her hand is on the back of his neck and she's pulling him down to her. She wants this, she actually wants him. Biff knew it, he knew it. She'd just been playing hard to get all those times, trying to get him all worked up just to shoot him down, but she's here now, and she wants him just like he's always wanted her.

He wants to lick and bite and suck, but he's a little terrified, and he ends up just breathing her in, pressing soft kisses to her skin and listening to her whimper.

She's working on his jeans and the realisation makes him jolt against her. There's going to be skin and touching and god only knows what else. The first touch of her hand on his dick makes his eyes roll back in his head and he makes a goofy honking sound he will deny to his dying day. He gets it together in time to catch the faint smile on her face and he doesn't like it, doesn't like that she might be laughing at him right now, but he's so pathetically grateful, he thinks she could do anything she wanted to him, and maybe he'd just let her. He kisses her, hard, to make the smile go away, trying to kiss her like she kissed him, using his tongue, licking into her mouth and biting on her bottom lip. He wants to make her groan, wants that look of concentration back on her face, the one that he put there. He's going to burst out of his skin if he doesn't get more of her. He'll take all of her if he can get it. He just wants to bury himself in her. He wants sweat and movement and friction and fucking. Wants her so bad it's killing him.

He grabs for her skirt, pulling it up around her waist. The soft curve of her hips fit perfectly in his palms. She groans, actually throws her head back and groans, and he slips his thumb inside her panties, teasing down through silky hair, blindly searching for wet and heat and more.

"No, don't," she says, grabbing his wrist, and her words hit him like a slap.

"Come on, baby," he says, not letting up, falling back on the old moves that have never worked in the past. His grin feels sharp and brittle on his face.

Lorraine holds tight to his wrist. "You've been working on the car. Your hands are dirty."

He blinks, and holds up his hand, looking at the smudges of black and brown on his fingers. He blinks again and sees the pale smoothness of Lorraine's skin, her pretty face, her chest and belly.

"It's okay," she whispers, and Biff's mouth goes dry as she inches her skirt up her thighs. "It's okay, just..." She gets up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, and guides his hands to her ass, biting on his lips as he takes the weight of her. She opens her legs to him, her thighs soft and glorious around his waist.

Sliding inside her is like nothing on earth. He's so close to losing it right there and then, he can't look her in the face. He drops his head to her shoulder, his forehead sliding a little on sweaty skin just above where her cute little cardigan has been yanked to one side.

She's moving her hips, rocking back and forth as best she can in the little space she has to move with his whole body pinning her to the car.

It's too much. He can't be inside her like this and not move. He tries to take it slow, wants to make it last as long as he can, but she's not letting up. He starts fucking her, giving her everything he has, hoping like hell it feels as good for her as it does for him.

Her hand is between them, rubbing herself hard and fast, her knuckles grazing the low muscle of his stomach, and he wishes he'd thought of that, wishes he'd known how.

She arches up against him, her mouth falling open, and he thinks this is it, the way her whole body tightens, the way her breathing is getting louder and rougher, her hand clamping down on his bicep. He starts talking, can't help himself, the words just falling out of him, because this is Lorraine, and she's with him. She's finally with him.

"I waited for you, Lorraine. I waited. Wanted you so long. You have no idea. No idea."

He pushes his face into the curve of her throat as he comes, a long wave of pleasure that makes the world fade away, until there's only Lorraine, the smell of her, the taste of her.

He comes down to earth slowly, and it takes a while for his breathing to calm down. He's still inside her, everything warm and wet and slippery, and it makes him feel oddly scared and young, but good, because it's both of them. He has a sudden urge to put his mouth there, to taste her, lick her clean, drink himself out of her, but he clamps down on it, because, okay, they just had sex, but there's no way Lorraine would want that. He'd ask her, but he knows he's not brave enough to get a question like that out. He knows he doesn't have the words for what he wants. He doesn't want to look up, doesn't want to face her. He's never felt more naked. She's going to be able to see it in him, how much he wants her, how shaken he is that she's given this to him. He doesn't know how to talk to her like this, without the struggle, without the fight. He's had her now, and surely that should be enough, but his chest aches, and he wonders if maybe he loves her.

Lorraine wriggles a little until he gets the message that he should let go now, and she gets her feet back on the ground. She slips out from under him. She looks a little shell-shocked; she looks a little blank. Her hair is a little messed up and her lipstick is smeared. He licks his lips and there's a faint waxy taste there. He swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, but keeps licking, seeking out traces of her.

He realises that he's standing there, half naked in his grandma's garage with the door open, so he quickly pulls his undershirt down, and tucks himself back into his jeans.

Lorraine blinks rapidly and swallows, glancing around the garage like she's just woken up. He watches her cover herself up, fixing her bra, straightening her shirt and neatening her cardigan, then smoothing her hair with one hand as she adjusts her underwear as quickly and discreetly as she can through her skirt.

"Lorraine, I--"

"I have to go," she says quickly.

"No, listen. If you go then I... I just wanted to tell you that this... This was..."

"Biff, I have to go." She glances up at him, and it looks like she wants to say more, but her gaze skitters away, back to his car. She stares at her distorted reflection in the window and touches her fingertips to her lips. "Mom's making meatloaf."

Biff watches her walk away, out into the dying sunshine, and right in that moment he knows that whatever the future brings, he's certain it isn't ever going to bring him Lorraine Baines.





-end-